


and you may lose your heart

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: Stephen never wants to let you go. But life isn't always fair.





	and you may lose your heart

Stephen stands in the corner of the hole-in-the-wall coffee bar on Fifth and Main, hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he waits for his drink. Given that it’s a weekday morning, there are quite a few people here already, which means the wait will be a bit longer, but the falling snow outside makes the warm coffeeshop all the more hospitable, so Stephen doesn’t mind.

He spares a glance toward the floor-to-ceiling window facing the street and sighs lightly as he takes in the ever growing mounds of snow along the sidewalk. Perhaps walking here had been a mistake. While the walk to the sanctum sanctorum isn’t far, in this cold, it would definitely feel like a long trip back.

In the midst of contemplating whether or not to just take a gateway back, Stephen hears his drink called out. He watches the barista place it on the counter and walks towards it. Just as he’s about to reach an arm out for it, he sees another arm in his peripherals also going for the drink.

“Oh, sorry!” you exclaim, quickly retracting your arm. Stephen pauses in his motion to get his coffee as he turns to you. “I didn’t realize you’d ordered the same drink.”

He smiles in understanding as he now picks up his drink and stands off to the side so he doesn’t block the counter. “You’d think they’d just start taking customers’ names to avoid something like this,” he murmurs so the baristas don’t overhear. The quip pulls a giggle from you, and Stephen decides he likes the sound of it very much.

“Although to be fair, I doubt many customers ask for so many shots of espresso in their coffee,” you reply teasingly. The barista calls out the order for the second time, signaling to you that your own drink is ready, and you grab it from the counter with a thank you. You then make your way to the counter on the opposite side of the room where you can add extra cream to your coffee until it’s to your liking. Stephen walks alongside you so you can carry on your conversation.

He chuckles. “Colleagues of mine used to wonder how I wasn’t just twitching after the caffeine crash.” He takes a sip of his drink, delighting in the warmth.

“My friends still wonder that about me,” you remark with an offhanded shrug. “I guess I’ve just grown so used to such a high amount of caffeine.” When you’ve replaced the lid on your cup you bring it up to your lips to test the drink. You nod in approval as you lick your lips. “So tell me…”

“Stephen.”

You smile in thanks. “So tell me, Stephen, no one orders that many shots of espresso just because they can. Hectic job?”

The truth is that this drink order originated from when he was still a neurosurgeon. Weird hours at the hospital meant he needed a quick way to wake up. Now… well, even though he doesn’t need it for guarding the sanctum, he still orders it because it’s habit. He’d been taking this order for so long that the seemingly (to the outsider) suicidal number of espresso shots didn’t affect him anymore. But of course he can’t tell you any of that, especially because it would also then require explaining his accident and his sorcery training and yada yada yada… Not anything you needed to hear about, basically.

So instead he shrugs. “Just been a late night.”

“Ah, I know those well.” You look off to the side, brows furrowed slightly as if remembering an unpleasant memory. “Procrastinating as much as I did in college meant I’d be up late the night before an assignment was due.”

“And how about you, Miss…”

“[Name].”

“Miss [Name]. What has you getting so much caffeine in your coffee?”

“Paperwork. A lot of it. Due by the end of the day.” You sigh heavily. “I’d been sick the last few days and got behind so I’m heading into the office today to finish it all. I don’t want to take any of it home with me.”

Stephen raises a brow. He can almost feel the stress you’re no doubt feeling at the moment as you think about the mountain of work you have to tackle today. “Sounds like you’ve got your plate full.”

“But an empty weekend. Hopefully.” You don’t sound too confident, but you nod subtly, as if resolving to yourself that you  _would_  finish that work by today, even if it meant not leaving the office until the last page was evaluated and signed and set aside for your boss to glance at come Monday.

“If you do get that empty weekend of yours, perhaps I could treat you to another coffee?” The words are out of Stephen’s mouth before he even realizes it. Your [eye color] eyes are large as they glance at him to try to figure out if he’s joking. But he’s not. “But maybe one that’s not more caffeine than it is coffee.”

You giggle again (Stephen feels his chest tighten at the sound). “I’d like that.”

Stephen smiles. “Wonderful.” By the time he leaves the coffeeshop, your number is in his phone and his number is in yours. He’s already eagerly (though quite nervously) anticipating your next meeting. He decides he’ll call you later in the day, perhaps after five, since surely you’ll have left work by then.

———

You don’t pick up when he calls at 5:16 PM, so he sends a text for you to read when you get the chance— _Saturday morning at 10, if it works for you. At the same coffeeshop. If we order duplicate drinks by chance again at least this time we’ll be ready._

He gets a reply at 9:32 PM.

_Hey! Sounds great. Sorry. I just got back from the office. Paperwork was insane but I got it done! Free weekend! Woo hoo!_

Stephen smiles fondly as he reads the text. He can practically hear you saying these things. At the thought of tomorrow morning, there’s a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he still can’t tell if it’s excitement or nervousness. Perhaps it’s a mix of both.

———

He’s sitting at a table by the window nine minutes before your scheduled meeting time. He stares outside absentmindedly, finger trailing over the words on the lid of his drink. When the shaking of his hand starts to shift the cup slightly, he settles for tucking his hand into his coat pocket, still watching the outside world. It had been cloudy when he left the sanctum earlier, but now some of the clouds are disappearing. The few rays of sun now emerging reflect off the snow and make it rather hard to look at, so Stephen turns away. Just as he does, the doors to the coffeeshop open and he sees you walk through.

You pull a hand out from the pocket of your dark blue coat so you can pull down at the red scarf around your neck that you had been using to cover your nose from the harsh winds. You breathe in deeply now and revel in the homely smell and feel of the coffee bar and smile widely, teeth showing, when your eyes spot Stephen.

“Looks like we both thought of being early,” you state with a chuckle, holding up your phone to show the time—9:55 AM.

“I was feeling eager,” Stephen replies with a smile. He doesn’t miss the pink that dusts your cheeks. He’s confident that that wasn’t a result of the wind.

You leave him alone for a few minutes to order your drink, and when you get it, you walk over and hold it up. “Did we do it again?”

Stephen laughs and tells you his order, and you snap your fingers in mock disappointment as you sit down. “Darn. I ordered mine with sweetener.”

“Still close.”

“Scary close. You’re not a mind reader are you?” you inquire jokingly.

“Just a man with similarly good taste,” he comments easily.

You smile and laugh quietly. “I’ll drink to that…” you mutter before taking a sip of your latte.

Stephen notices a gold necklace peaking out from beneath your scarf with a pendant hanging on the chain. The pendant has an eye on it. “I like your necklace,” he compliments.

“Huh?” You set your drink down on the table and also study your necklace as if just noticing it was there. “Oh, thanks! My brother got it for my birthday a long time ago . He lives on the opposite side of the country and I wear this whenever I miss him. Which is to say I wear it a lot.” You smile sheepishly and shrug.

“Sounds like you two are close.”

“We are. It’s just…” you trail off for a second as you go to hold the pendant, studying the eye. “His work took him over there and my work keeps me here. So we just see each other on holidays now.”

The two of you converse as if you’d known each other for years rather than hours. You have a lot of common interests to talk about, and the one thought nagging at the back of Stephen’s mind as he attentively listens to the time your canoe capsized in the middle of the lake during a family outing two summers ago is that he’d like to see you again… and again… and again. And he can only hope you feel the same.

You glance down at your phone and your eyes widen at seeing the time—12:56 PM. “I’m so sorry to cut this short, but I told my friend I’d get lunch with her and I’m already running late.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve kept you to myself long enough,” Stephen says with a smile. Had it really been nearly three hours since the two of you sat down to talk?

You stand up and dust off your black tights before slinging your bag onto your shoulder. “I really enjoyed it though. I’d like to do this again, but maybe we can do something other than load up on coffee.”

Stephen chuckles. “That sounds like a great idea.” Even after you’ve left the coffeeshop, he remains where he is, drink long since consumed. A small smile pulls at his lips at the thought of you, and to those who might spare a glance in his direction, he might look crazy, just staring at the door through which you’d just passed, and hell, maybe he is. He’s not sure if he’d just dreamed all of this—meeting you, meeting you again, talking with you for so long and not even realizing it. He knows it’s cheesy and cliche but he can’t help but wonder where the hell you’d been all his life.

———

Three months of friendship with you go by in the blink of an eye. His days of watching the sanctum pass faster, and even Wong notices his change in demeanor upon one of his visits.

His eyes are scrutinizing as Stephen gazes out the window, watching people bustle around on Bleecker Street. He appears less stressed, blue eyes more full of life. It’s not an unwelcome change, not at all, but it’s certainly a random one.

“Strange,” Wong says suddenly, and said man’s eyes shoot to him, waiting patiently for him to continue. “You seem different. Is everything all right?”

 _Was it that obvious?_  Strange clears his throat and pretend to adjust the collar of his cloak. “Yeah, Wong. Everything is fine.”

Wong doesn’t look as though he’s willing to settle for such a vague answer, and at his silence, Stephen feels the urge to continue, if only to quell the awkward silence. “Well, there’s this girl…” He sounds like an infatuated teenage boy. Brilliant.

“A girl,” Wong repeats, to make sure he heard correctly.

“Yeah. A girl. And… she’s really nice.”

“Does she know?”

Stephen requires no context to the question. “No.” He shakes his head, returning to looking out the window. “I haven’t told her anything.”

“Will you?”

Stephen sighs, digests the inquiry for a second, shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”

———

Another two months go by and neither of you has verbally addressed the relationship status between the two of you, but the first shared kiss on your doorstep and the numerous shared kisses on various dates after that is definitely proof enough that you’re more than just friends. 

Today Stephen is at your apartment, where the two of you share a bottle of wine in the living room. It’s raining outside and neither of you felt like doing much, you in particular because you’d had a very taxing video conference the day before that had gone on for much longer than intended.

“But it was worth it,” you conceded as you plop down on the couch next to Stephen, careful of the wine sloshing around in your glass. “Because guess who got that promotion afterwards?”

“Jonathan?” Stephen asks jokingly, which promptly wipes the smile off your face. Jonathan is one of your office mates with whom you’re in close competition when it comes to promotions and generally being on your boss’s good side. At seeing your unamused expression, Stephen can’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m kidding.” He sets his glass down on the coffee table and kisses your head. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you state dismissively, trying to wriggle from his hold, but you’re smiling. Stephen only loosens his grip on you enough for you to be able to pull back and look him in the eyes. You never tire of how beautiful his blue eyes are. They’re piercing. The thought causes your smile to widen.

“What?” Stephen asks, just above a whisper. You can smell the wine on his breath but you’re sure yours is no different.

“I like your eyes,” you whisper back. This is a statement Stephen is no stranger to. It’s not the first time he’s heard you say it.

“I like you,” he states, smiling and kissing your nose.

You scrunch your nose up and giggle. “You missed.”

This remark pulls a chuckle from Stephen. And so he decides to “miss” a few more times. He kisses you on the forehead, over your eye (this one causes you to laugh a little louder as you squeeze your eyes shut and exclaim “Stephen!” all while you try to worm your way out of his hold, but he doesn’t let you go), on both your cheeks. Finally he sets a kiss on your lips, but he doesn’t pull away immediately. All at once he’s consumed with a hunger he’d never given way to until now. You fall back against the couch cushions, lips never detaching. One of your hands tangles itself in his hair, the other wraps around his neck to keep him close.

He pulls away because he needs air, and your pants are the only sounds in the whole apartment. “Are you sure about this?”

You stare up at him for a moment, eyes hazy and lips kissed swollen and [hair color] hair in disarray. But you’re fully attentive as you consider his question, and he waits. You nod finally, biting at your lip. “I am.”

Stephen smiles slightly and pecks your lips once, and chuckles when you tilt your head up to try and chase his lips for another kiss. “Then maybe we could move to the bedroom? Unless you’d rather we fuck on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers.”

You laugh and lightly push at his chest, prompting him to stand. When you too are on your feet, you grab his hand and lead him down the hallway to your room.

Stephen wants to worship your body forever. Your skin is hot silk against his shaking hands and your quiet gasps as his lips run over a particularly sensitive spot are music to his ears. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He delights in the bucking of your hips and the feel of your fingers tangled in his hair as he ravages your sex with his tongue. You’re a quivering mess beneath him. And when he’s finally in you…  _god_. Your eyes slide shut in pleasure, mouth hanging open and moans escaping you with each deep thrust. There’s no other image more perfect than this. And after the two of you climax in a flurry of groans and mewls and sighs, you lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow, in each other’s presence. Stephen wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life—staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain, acutely aware of your finger drawing senseless patterns on his chest.

You carefully grab hold of Stephen’s hand that he’d been resting on his stomach, studying it closely. Your thumb runs over the scars on his fingers. You’d never asked about them before, knowing it was probably a private matter, and you didn’t want to pry. But the curiosity was still there.

“I was in an accident,” Stephen says suddenly, and you look up at him, thumb pausing in its movements. But his eyes aren’t on you. Rather they’re looking down at his hand which is held by yours. “A car accident. It was raining, much like it is today, and I wasn’t paying attention. Rammed into another car. Flew off the road and down the mountain. Eleven metal pins in my fingers. I was told no one could do better.”

Your heart tightens and you swallow hard at hearing this story. He still doesn’t meet your gaze, as though ashamed of what had happened to him. It must’ve taken a great amount of courage to share it with you. But you’re grateful that he had. You squeeze his hand, and his eyes slide up to meet yours.

“That doesn’t make you any less of a good person, Stephen,” you whisper.

Stephen searches your eyes and all he can find is sincerity. He won’t lie, he still thinks about that night. What would’ve happened if he’d actually paid attention to the road. Would he still be a neurosurgeon, helping to pioneer medical technology and making bank on it? Would he still be arrogant, self-absorbed, care only for himself? He definitely wouldn’t have made it to Nepal, for there would’ve been no point in going there in the first place. He wouldn’t have learned of the infinite multi-verses that exist, of the fact that he’s not just a tiny speck within an indifferent universe. He wouldn’t be a sorcerer, master of the New York sanctum, defending earth against mystical opposition while people go about their lives never knowing of the immense responsibility he holds on his shoulders.

Would he have never met you? Had he still been a surgeon, he wouldn’t have been in the coffeeshop that morning. He would’ve been in the hospital, evaluating patient records and finding someone good to operate on—someone worth his time. He would’ve sent someone else to get his drink for him instead, claiming that his work was too important to even leave for a _damn coffee break._

At this point in time, the thought of having never even known you existed kills him inside. You’re such a fixture in his life, a break from the sorcery and mystic arts. He so desperately wants to keep you away from that part of his life, for you deserve to live not worrying about him as he carries out his job, but you’ve bared your heart to him, and he knows he has to do the same, if your relationship is to truly flourish.

So the next time he visits your apartment, he leans against the doorframe to the kitchen, studying you at your dining table as you draw in the sketchbook he’d bought you a few weeks ago.

“[Name],” he pipes up. You look up at him and set your pencil down, head tilting in question. “Can I show you something?” You nod, and he motions for you to follow him. He leads you to the lounge. He comes to a stop and turns to face you. “Name a place you’d like to go.”

You tilt your head again, this time in confusion as you look up at him. You avert your gaze for a second. “What, like… for dinner?”

Stephen can’t help but chuckle at your innocent question. He shakes his head. “Name a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Like another state. Or another continent entirely.”

You consider it for a moment and shrug. “I’ve always wanted to visit London.”

Stephen nods, then gently sets his hands on your arms to ensure he has your attention. Your brows are furrowed in confusion as you watch him. “What I’m about to show you… You need to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Stephen…” you trail off uneasily. “Where are you going with this?”

He lets go of you then and fishes something out of his pocket. It’s a two-finger ring with a bar going across it. He slips it on and glances at you one more time before turning to face the center of the lounge. He positions the hand with the ring and steadily draws circles in the air with the other. Your eyes narrow as you wait, wondering what he’s doing, but then they widen as orange sparks flutter from seemingly out of nowhere. And soon they form a circle to match his motions. Sooner yet you no longer see the opposite side of the lounge through the circle but rather, what looks to be… a sidewalk? And buildings? Stephen steps through and turns around, holding his hand out to you, but you’re frozen in place due to shock. Were you dreaming right now?

“Please trust me,” Stephen says. He continues to hold his hand out. And you take it.

When he pulls you through, you’re shocked to be standing on the sidewalk of a place you’d never been to before. You notice there are cars driving on the left side of the street. Is this…

“London?” you ask breathlessly as you turn to Stephen. He nods, and you sputter, officially at a loss for words. You twirl back around to look through the portal, still seeing your apartment  _back in New York_. What the  _hell_  was going on?

“How… What…” You can’t even form a full sentence. Stephen takes a deep breath, preparing to explain himself. He knew this moment would be inevitable, but now that it’s here, he wishes he waited a little longer, because he doesn’t feel like he’s ready.

“I’m a sorcerer,” he states shortly. “I can travel not only to different places around the world but also to other dimensions. I protect Earth.”

“Like… Like the Avengers?” you inquire, head still reeling.

“The Avengers defend Earth from physical threats. I defend it from mystical ones.”

You keep silent for a moment, processing this information. “Are you the only one?”

Stephen shakes his head. “There are others all around the world. I’m the one who guards the New York sanctum.”

“The  _what_?”

“Come with me.” He holds his hand out again and this time you’re much quicker to take it as he pulls you through the gateway and back into your apartment. You watch as the portal disintegrates, orange sparks flitting about until they disappear completely. So… you hadn’t just dreamed the entire thing.

The two of you sit at the dining table until the sun sets, Stephen explaining everything to you—about how following his accident he spent every last cent he could spare on surgeries in the hopes of repairing his hands to the way they were before. About how as a last resort he’d traveled all the way to Nepal for spiritual healing. About Kaecilius, Dormammu, the destruction of the sanctum in London and the attacks on the one in New York that eventually led to Stephen becoming its new protector.

It’s a lot to think about, but you still remember to ask—“So what are you called?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know… There’s Captain America, Iron Man, Scarlet Witch… What about you?”

Stephen smiles at your question that you ask with complete curiosity. “Doctor Strange.”

You raise a brow. “You kept that even after you moved on from neurosurgery?”

Stephen frowns slightly. “I didn’t work that hard for a PhD for the title not to be used, [Name],” he tells you matter-of-factly, which causes you to laugh.

“Okay, okay. I see your point.”

———

Stephen feels such relief after having told you about his abilities, and is especially grateful you’d been so understanding. But you’re an understanding girl, never wanting to jump to conclusions or make assumptions. You let people talk, explain themselves. And he loves that about you.

This also means it’s not always him visiting you at your apartment anymore. You stop by the sanctum quite often now, and each time still find yourself transfixed on all the relics stored on the second floor. Today Stephen reads a tome by the light of the window as you walk around, weaving your way through the glass display cases. He’s in his sorcerer’s robes, but his cloak levitates next to the couch—

Or. Well. It did.

He raises a brow as his eyes scan the area for it. The cloak hardly leaves his sight, so where could it be? It’s when you come into view again does he see the cloak trailing close behind you, completely silent. He smiles but doesn’t say anything, settling for watching.

When you turn into another aisle of displays, you hear a quiet swoosh, causing you to twist around to find the source of the noise. Stephen’s cloak hovers several feet away from you. You narrow your eyes but don’t say anything as you turn back around and keep walking. There’s a swoosh again. As you come to a stop in front of another glass case, you can see in the reflection the cloak floating towards you before stopping a few feet away, again unmoving.

“I saw you this time!” you exclaim with a smile as you turn around, pointing at the cloak.

Stephen lets out a laugh. “It likes you.”

You glance at him, and when you turn you attention back to the cloak, you laugh as it encircles you, pushing you in a specific direction. You follow even though you’re thoroughly confused about what it’s doing, and Stephen sets aside his book and stands up when he realizes you’re being led in his direction.

“Hey, come on, stop that,” he tells the cloak, hand outstretched so that it’ll return to him. And it does, but instead of settling in his hand, it comes around to settle on his shoulders. You’re standing very close to Stephen by this point, but the cloak decides to close that distance for you, the bottom corners raising and wrapping around you to pull you flush against Stephen. He catches you as you let out an “oomph!” as you collide with his chest. He chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, the cloak dropping back down now that it’s done its job.

“Do you ever feel like that cloak is conspiring to tell you things?” you question, amused smile on your face.

Stephen considers the inquiry and shrugs dismissively.  “I think it was trying to say that you should kiss me.”

You laugh. “Who am I to deny a good idea?” You tiptoe so you can kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck. His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your waist, before coming to rest on your hips. The feel of your body and the softness of your lips are so familiar to him at this point. He no longer entertains the thought of life without you because why linger on such an idea when you’re right here?

———

A year goes by in a flash. Tonight it’s your weekly date night—a night that the two of you set aside whatever work you might have to simply spend time with each other. It could manifest itself as a night in, watching movies (or sometimes even medical documentaries that have Stephen captivated but have you, on the other hand, fast asleep), or it could be a walk in the park, or a trip to a fancy restaurant. Tonight it would’ve been the last on that list, but because of the rain, the two of you decide that tonight you would change plans and just spend the evening at your apartment.

Stephen’s phone rings just before he heads into the bathroom to shower. He grabs it and answers on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me!” The sound of your voice makes Stephen smile even after so long. “Just leaving the office now. The rain is falling pretty hard so I’ll be driving slower. Take your time getting ready.” He can hear raindrops hitting the ground as you rush out to your car.

“But what if I wanted to show up early to surprise you?”

You laugh. “If you’d like to be greeted by a rain-soaked me, then go ahead. I forgot my umbrella today.”

Stephen chuckles. “I’ll see you then.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too.” The words become second-nature to him, for all he thinks as he looks at you is that one word— _love_. It’s the feeling he gets in his chest when you laugh. It’s the glint in your eyes whenever you gaze up at him. It’s the aura that permeates the two of you, a thread that binds you together.  

The rain serves as background noise as Stephen emerges from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. After he’s fully dressed and has styled his hair, he’s fishing in his drawer for a pair of socks. His phone rings again He almost doesn’t get to it in time, but when he does he surveys the number quickly. Although it’s not one saved in his phone, he recognizes it easily—the hospital. He furrows his brows—why would they be calling? He hadn’t made any appointments. He answers.

“Hello?” he asks, walking back to the drawer.

“Stephen Strange?” He doesn’t recognize the voice on the other line.

“Speaking.”

“I’m calling to tell you about a Miss [Name]—”

And that’s when Stephen stops listening. His ears are ringing and finding a pair of socks is the last thing on his mind. All that overtakes his thoughts is you. His chest tightens and his stomach drops but it’s not in the good way. He hears the woman on the phone saying words— _car accident, hospitalized, critical health_ —and he still refuses to believe she could be talking about you.

“Are-Are you sure?” he manages to say, already finding himself grabbing his shoes to slip on.

“Yes, sir. We checked her recent calls and you were at the very top.” You’d called him just before you left work. _Oh god._  Stephen’s eyes are blurry as he hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket, switching it out for his sling ring. It takes him a bit longer this time to conjure a gateway due to his inability to focus, but as soon as he sees the mop closet of the hospital on the other side of it, he’s quick to rush through.

“[Name] [Last Name],” he forces out as he approaches the nurses’ station. “ _Where is she_?”

The nurse takes him to your room, but not nearly fast enough. He enters your room but stops short in the doorframe. Surely that… that can’t be  _you_  on that bed? But your hair is a giveaway as is the dress you’re wearing—he’d bought it for you a while ago.

Stephen can’t muster any words as he practically stumbles toward the cot, not caring if the nurse sees him in this state (unbeknownst to him she’d already left, half to give him privacy and half to fetch the doctor). You’re almost unrecognizable. You’re hooked up to tubes and there are sewn gashes and angry bruises all over you. Your left leg is in a cast and elevated and you’re wearing a neck brace. All Stephen can hear are his own unsteady, frightened breaths and the beeping of the heart rate monitor.

This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. If one of you had to get into a life-threatening situation like this, it should have been  _him_.  _He’s_  the one with the ability to repair himself. You haven’t had that kind of training. He was supposed to be there to  _protect you_ , and he’d failed. He never even got the chance to  _try_  and save you, to stop this from ever occurring.

The doctor knocks gently on the door to signal his arrival, but Stephen doesn’t react, only stays by your side silently.

“Her car slid off the road because of all the rain,” the doctor explained. “The traffic made it hard to get to her quickly, and we did all we could, but she’s in critical health.”

“Did you do  _everything_?” Stephen bites out. And then he’s listing out possible solutions, pulling at all of his medical knowledge for ways to fix this because if you’re not with him then what is he supposed to do? But the doctor refutes every suggestion with reasons Stephen doesn’t want to admit make sense but must accept that they do. It all comes down to the fact you’d come in already past the point of being able to fully be yourself again. The impact had been severe enough to cause brain damage, so even if you did get well enough to leave the hospital, mentally you would never be your old self.

What kills Stephen is that you were in the same kind of accident he was in, right down to the weather conditions. But the difference is that  _you_  had been careful. You always are. Yet you lay on this hospital bed in a worse state than he was and all he can ask is how did  _he_  survive despite his carelessness whereas your cautiousness did  _nothing_. The contrast makes this whole situation harder to accept than it already was.

“I’m sorry, Mister Strange,” the doctor says, meaning every word. Stephen doesn’t even have the heart to correct him on the title.

The doctor leaves the room to give him privacy. Stephen’s long since stopped trying to keep the tears at bay. They fall freely as he keeps his gaze on you, listens closely to the beeping on the monitor. He sets his hand atop yours, squeezing it as if to tell you to  _please wake up_. Please open those magnificent [eye color] eyes of yours and be his [Name] again. But the slowed beeps on the monitor are undeniable.

They slow.

And they slow.

And they slow.

And soon all that reaches Stephen’s ears is a flatline.

He’s numb. But he refuses to believe this is the end for you. It can’t be. He won’t allow it to be. He slips out of your room, tears drying on his cheeks, and skirts past the nurses. Just as he re-enters the mop closet he can hear a nurse calling the doctor in to your room. He steps through the gateway and when he’s back in the sanctum he makes a beeline for the object he’s thinking about, stare hard.

The Eye of Agamotto sits where it had for a long while now. Stephen had avoided time manipulation, and had been doing well at it, but  _physical laws be damned_  because you’re not here and what he’s now fully coming to terms with since he’d heard you flatline was that he couldn’t live if you weren’t around. He’d always claimed you were a permanent fixture in his life, here to stay, had firmly believed it, and now that you’re gone, he feels empty. He feels incomplete. He feels broken.

So he shakily takes the Eye and puts it on, and through eyes that are getting blurry with tears once more, he opens it, concentrates hard, and rewinds.

And rewinds.

And rewinds.

He’s not entirely sure how far back he goes. He stops when he finds himself in your apartment, the sun shining brightly outside. He’s sitting on your bed, listening to the shower, and he glances down at the Eye still around his neck. He takes it off and quickly tucks it into the overnight bag he had brought with him that sits on the far wall. Ah. So this was one of the times he’d stayed the night.

“Hey, Stephen, have you seen my my dress? The ones with flowers on it? I thought I’d taken it out of the dryer already but I can’t find it.”

Said man doesn’t turn around right away, still staring at his overnight bag. The voice is unmistakeable. It’s  _you_. It’s really you. He braces himself as he stands, twists around to see you standing in the doorframe to your room, hair wet and nothing but a towel concealing your otherwise naked form. He’s not hallucinating. Surely.

You raise a brow. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Stephen doesn’t say anything, just continues to watch you, drink in the sight of you, alive and well. You don’t know. You can’t know what he’s thinking. The juxtaposition is unsettling. Still vivid in Stephen’s mind is you on that hospital bed, state irreparable. But you stand now before him, skin still smooth and unmarred, no tubes sticking out of you, still yourself. He’s not hallucinating. But for good measure, he takes wide strides toward you, and shakily sets his hands on the sides of your face, thumbs stroking the skin of your cheeks.

You patiently wait and allow Stephen to do as he will. His eyes are roving over your body, but yours are concentrated on his face, noting the worry lines. You set one of your hands atop his own, steadying the shaking. “Stephen?”

Those blue eyes of his meet your gaze, and before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s kissing you hard. Admittedly you’re caught by surprise, this flurry of passion manifesting from out of nowhere. But you’re not one to complain.

Stephen guides you to the bed, and you fall back onto the mattress. He quickly crawls over you, lips trailing along every inch of skin they can. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your breaths labored in arousal.

“I just showered…” you manage to say. Despite the statement, you make no move to push Stephen away. He undoes the towel around you, leaving you bare to him, and you shiver from the cold that assaults your body.

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing between the valley of your breasts and continuing down your stomach.

“I love you too,” you breathe out, eyes sliding closed as Stephen approaches the place you want him most at this very moment. He is more than happy to oblige.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

———

It’s a month and a half gone by when it’s that fateful night again. Though would it be fitting to call it “fateful”? For Stephen had undone it, had managed to manipulate time to get you back. Since then, he’d treasured every hour, every minute, every second he spent in your presence. The love he has for you never faded, but after what he’d seen in that hospital bed, now as he looks at you, it feels stronger. Impossibly stronger. To the point it hurts. He never wants to let you go.

His phone rings. He picks it up before the first ring even finishes.

“Hello?”

“It’s me!” Stephen takes in a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “Just leaving the office now. The rain is falling pretty hard so I’ll be driving slower. Take your time getting ready.”

Stephen walks up to the window and surveys the falling rain. “I don’t want you driving home in this weather. Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”

“But what about my car?”

“I’ll take you back to get it tomorrow, when it’s not raining.”

The sound of the rain disappears on the other end of the line. You’ve headed back inside. “Okay. I’ll wait in my office.”

As soon as you hang up, he grabs his sling ring and puts it on. He conjures a gateway in the middle of his bedroom that leads straight to your office. He steps through, waits patiently for you to come back. The door creaks open and you smile when you see him. The lights had already been turned off, so all there is to illuminate you is the glowing orange sparks of the gateway. He smiles fondly, takes a moment to change the destination to that of your apartment. He holds his breath as he watches you walk through it. It’s only when he follows in behind you and the gateway disappears does he breathe again.

Had he done it? Had he  _really_  done it? He feels tears gathering in his eyes as he processes the situation. The two of you had never gotten this far. Without his intervention just now, you wouldn’t have made it home. But now the two of you stand in your lounge, and the timeline continues as if there hadn’t just been a disturbance. Stephen knows there’s still a dimension out there where you’ve died and you’ve stayed that way, but all he cares about is the dimension he’s in currently, where you’re perfectly fine.

“Let me just change out of these clothes into something more comfortable and we can watch a movie or something,” you state, grabbing Stephen’s attention. You stand there with a smile, wanting to make sure he’d heard you.

He swallows, nods his head, musters up a smile and hopes that you don’t see his lips quivering. “Okay.”

Later that evening, when you’re cuddled on the couch watching some old black-and-white flick from years long gone, Stephen holds you tighter than he ever has before.

———

Time passes by. Stephen hasn’t kept track of how long exactly. What he does know is that there’s a small velvet box sitting in the drawer of his nightstand, and tonight is the perfect night.

He picks you up at your apartment before dinner, the box sitting snugly in his pocket. It’s a cold night, so you’re bundled up in what he realizes is the outfit he’d seen you wear around the time he first met you—black tights, dark blue coat, red scarf, and the necklace from your brother. He doesn’t know if you’d done it on purpose, but it makes him smile. The choice of outfit seems perfect for what he has planned tonight.

“You look good,” he compliments.

You smile softly. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” He holds his hand out and you take it, locking the door behind you before you make your way downstairs to join the night life of New York.

The two of you get dinner at a cafe across from the street from Central Park. You sit next to the window so you can look at the park, illuminated by street lamps. From what you remember your friend telling you, an indie band was playing there tonight, and since you and Stephen had already planned to walk through, you decide you’d like to stop by and listen.

“This cookie is really good,” you mutter, evaluating the chocolate chip cookie you hold in your hand. You’ve nearly finished eating it.

Stephen chuckles and takes a sip of his coffee. “Do you want me to buy you another?” he asks, setting his cup down.

You grin sheepishly and nod. “Could you?”

Stephen smiles. “Of course.” He stands up and brushes any stray crumbs from his meal off his pants. He walks back to the counter and stands behind the few other people in line while you occupy yourself with your phone. As he moves through the line, he can’t take his eyes off of you. He is acutely aware of that velvet box in his pocket. He decides he’ll ask you later. In the park.

[Name] Strange.

That has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?

When he reaches the front of the line, he orders your chocolate chip cookie. This time he orders two so he can have one as well. In the middle of grabbing cash from his wallet, he notices a bright light illuminating it from the side. He furrows his brows in confusion, for there’s nothing in the cafe that would emit such a light. So he turns his head to survey the source, and the next three seconds feel like eternity three times over.

The light comes from outside the cafe, but it’s unmistakably the headlights of a car. The yells of a woman somewhere else in the cafe to “watch out!” is nothing but white noise, for you’re caught in the crossfire. He shouts your name, loud enough that his throat burns, but it doesn’t matter. The crash is deafening as the car bursts through the wall, ramming straight into you and bringing a pile of rubble down. Stephen can only stand there in shock.

_No. No no no. This can’t be happening._

He knows you haven’t survived that impact. No one has to be a doctor to figure that one out. There are people yelling, calling 911 in a frenzied panic. People are trying to figure out what caused the driver to veer off the road so harshly—alcohol? A seizure at the wheel? But Stephen doesn’t speculate. That’s not his focus. His fingers twitch, the urge to rewind hitting him like a tsunami. But without the Eye of Agamotto around his neck he is powerless.

Someone sets a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir?”

Stephen shrugs off the hand and twists around, walking away from the wreckage. He fishes his sling ring out of his pocket and is quick to conjure a gateway on the opposite side of the cafe. He walks straight through it, not caring for the stares of people as they watch a portal materialize from nothing, only to disappear just as quickly right behind him. This time Stephen doesn’t feel tears gathering in his eyes as he makes his way to the Eye. He feels only anger because  _how dare Fate play him like this_. He’s a sorcerer with the power to manipulate time and  _he will not bend._ Not when it concerns you.

So he dons the Eye of Agamotto, opens it, and rewinds.

And rewinds.

And rewinds.

When he stops, he’s sitting on the couch in the lounge of your apartment. He stares at the opposite wall for a second, processing the situation. He’s done it again.

“Hey, Stephen—” You walk into the lounge but cut yourself short when you see Stephen just… sitting there. With the Eye around his neck. You tilt your head in question. “You didn’t have that on you earlier…”

Stephen’s gaze shoots to you, then down at the Eye. He hastily removes it, uneasily holds it in his hands. The brass is cold and taunting. He’s trying to think of an excuse, because it’s true. He doesn’t just bring the Eye with him anywhere. But he can only sputter nervously.

“Did you do something…?” you ask quietly. You’re familiar with the powers of the Eye of Agamotto. Stephen had explained it to you before. And for him to be in your lounge with it suddenly around his neck, surely he’d been forced to turn back time. But why had he done that?

Stephen can’t answer. He can only watch you helplessly, not wanting to explain why he’d rewinded time. Because what he resolved the first time he’d turned back time to get you back still holds true—you can never know that he’d seen you die, twice by this point, and he’d turned back the clock so he could be with you again. Because that’s all he wants. You’re the anchor that holds him down to a normal life, away from the sorcery and otherworldly oppositions. You remind him that there’s more to his life than the mystic arts. There’s walks in the park, movie marathons, a quiet night with a bottle of wine shared between you. There’s waking up to you, holding you, loving you.

You purse your lips. “It’s okay,” you say, just above a whisper. “You don’t have to tell me.” Despite your curiosity biting at you, urging you to get an answer from Stephen, you resist. Matters concerning his powers are his own, and you’ve always made it a point not to pry because you understand now that Stephen wants to hide those things from you to keep you safe. He loves you enough to do that, and you love him enough to accept that.

You walk over to the couch and sit down next to him, pulling him in for a hug. He sets the Eye down on the cushion next to him and his arms slowly wrap around you, holding you to him. He doesn’t squeeze, simply cradles you as if you would break if he hugged you any harder. He allows his eyes to slide closed as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent—you smell like safety. You smell like home.

———

It’s some time later when Stephen begins thinking about that small velvet box again. Life with you has been going smoothly. The occurrence at the cafe never happened this time around, since he’d changed your plans for the night to go to the drive-in movie theater outside the city. They were showing old movies that night, the likes of which you’re very interested in. That had been the majority of your movie playlist the last few date nights spent at your apartment (becaue, according to you, it was your turn to choose the movies since you’d watched so many medical documentaries by then that you feel you deserve some sort of medical degree now).

Today is your day off, so Stephen joins you at your apartment where you’re spending your free time baking. He leaves the sanctum with the velvet box safely in his pocket.

“I think I did a great job,” he declares as he surveys the chocolate chip cookies cooling off on the counter.

You pause in the middle of measuring the flour needed for your first batch of brownies to look up at Stephen, brow raised. “ _You_? All you did was the mixing!”

Stephen frowns playfully. “Not true. I cracked some eggs.”

“One, Stephen, and that one fell on the floor!” You laugh, and Stephen can’t help but laugh with you.

He walks up next to you and watches for a few seconds as you top off the measuring cup full of flour. “Hey,” he begins, causing you to look up at him, “what’s that?” He points to the other side of the kitchen.

You follow the direction his finger is pointing, but don’t see anything, so you turn back to him. “Wha—” You don’t get to finish your sentence because Stephen has hit the bottom of the measuring cup in your hand hard enough to kick up a bunch of flour into the air and into your face and hair. You shriek, careful to keep the hand with the measuring cup steady lest you drop the rest of the flour. “ _Stephen_!” you exclaim instead, but said man can’t hear you, for he’s laughing too hard.

You huff, and in an attempt to wipe that smirk off his face, you flick the measuring cup in his direction, effectively emptying its contents directly onto him. He squeezes his eyes shut and coughs, vision obscured by a wall of white, and now you’re the one laughing.

When the flour settles, Stephen opens his eyes, coughs a couple more times. You’re wearing a toothy grin as you look up at him.

“I guess we’re going to have shower to get rid of all of this,” you state cheekily, and Stephen chuckles.

“Was that your motive all along?” he asks.

You shrug. “What if it had been?”

“If you wanted to shower together, you could just ask,” Stephen murmurs, bending down to kiss you slowly. You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, but you pull away when the flour in his hair slides out and falls onto your face. You scrunch your nose.

“Let’s continue in the shower,” you suggest, fighting off a sneeze.

“Wait,” Stephen says. He stands back up straight and you let your arms fall back down to your sides, waiting patiently for him to continue. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

You nod. “Of course. Anything.” The ease with which you reply makes Stephen smile softly.

“I love you. You know that right?” he begins. You nod again. “And… And I can’t see myself living without you.” If only you knew the true depth behind that declaration. “I hope you feel the same way about me, because if you do, then [Name] [Last Name]…” He digs out the velvet box from the pocket and drops down onto one knee, and you gasp, hand going over your mouth and tears pooling at the corners of your beautiful [eye color] eyes.

“Will you do the honor of becoming my wife?” He opens the box, presenting the ring to you.

You don’t hesitate to nod, the tears now starting to fall. “Of course I will,” you choke out. Stephen smiles widely, also feeling tears gathering in his own eyes, and removes the ring from the box. He sets the box on the counter and gently grabs your left hand, which has flour on it. You pull away quickly to wipe it off with a towel, and Stephen chuckles as he then slides the ring onto your finger. As soon as he stands back up, you hug him tightly, not caring for the flour now. He kisses your flour-covered hair which prompts you to look up so he can kiss you properly on the lips.

One shower comprised of passionate love-making later, the two of you are laying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling and talking. You hold up your left hand so you can survey the diamond ring that sits perfectly on your finger, as if it were always meant to be there. You sigh happily.

“[Name] Strange.” You test the name, the feel of it on your lips. “Ironically enough, it doesn’t sound strange at all.” You drop your hand back down and turn your head to look at Stephen, who laughs quietly at your joke. Honestly, one could gauge you were perfect for each other solely based on the kind of humor you share.

“When should we plan the wedding?” you ask, adjusting your position so that you now lay on your stomach.

Stephen still lays on his back, arms tucked beneath his head as he looks at you. “Maybe it can wait until after you get back from visiting Finn.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of your brother. You’re set to fly over to visit him in a week, the first time you’re seeing him in a very long while. It’s not for the holidays either. Finn had suggested you take vacation days to see him, and after confirming with him that he would have time to take off as well to spend time with you, you booked the flight.

“I’ll have to tell him about this,” you exclaim quietly. And then you gasp, and Stephen’s gaze turns to one of worry as he waits for you to continue. “And I’ll have to tell my parents too!”

He then relaxes and smiles, laughing at the excitement that washes over you. Don’t get him wrong, he’s excited too, but he doesn’t exactly have anyone else to tell. Well, there’s Wong, but… Wong might not have much of a reaction at all.

Speaking of the other sorcerer… Stephen wonders if Wong is aware of the the last couple of times he’d used the Eye. He hadn’t said anything about it, and Wong hadn’t been paying him visits. Well, he has, but the topic of the Eye of Agamotto and its recent uses hasn’t come up. Stephen doesn’t think he’ll ever tell Wong, because he knows he’ll be reprimanded and deep down he knows that breaking physical law is very,  _very_  dangerous, but it doesn’t outweigh trying to keep you alive. It can’t.

———

One week later and you kiss him goodbye before running through the terminal to catch your plane. You mutter a quick “I love you” against his lips before you’re off. He remains where he is until you disappear around the corner toward the security checkpoint. Instead of taking a cab back to the sanctum, he conjures a gateway in a quiet area of the airport.

Later that evening he takes a brief break from reading his book to make himself a cup of coffee. He glances at his watch. Based on the time it is here, you should’ve landed already, but you haven’t called. Stephen brushes it off. You’re most likely too busy catching up with Finn to call. You would remember later when you settle down for bed, or if you were too tired to remember tonight, then in the morning. Stephen has changed the ringtone that plays specifically when you call so that he’ll always answer, since usually if his phone rings while he’s sleeping, he ignores it.

He does receive a call that night, but he doesn’t hear the ringtone that plays for you. He glances at the caller ID: it’s Finn. They had swapped numbers during a video call a long time ago where you introduced them. They’ve become rather good friends since then.

So he answers. “Hello?”

“Hey, Stephen…” Finn’s breaths are shaky, and Stephen frowns.

“Is everything all right?” he questions. “How’s [Name]?”

There’s a choked sob on the other line at the mention of your name, and there’s the feeling again—his chest tightens and his stomach drops.  _No._

“It… It’s about [Name]’s flight,” Finn forces out. “It never landed here. T-They said the plane had some sort of uncontained turbine engine failure, whatever the hell that means. It went down somewhere in the midwest.”

“But the plane is fine, right? [Name] is fine.” When Stephen says this, it comes out more as a statement than a question, more to comfort himself than anything.

“Based on what I heard, I don’t think anyone made it out of there.” Finn’s crying harder now, Stephen can tell just based on the sound of his sobs.

Said man releases a shaky sigh of his own, tears pooling in his eyes and slowly falling down his cheeks. “Can… Can I call you back?” he asks quietly.

Finn sniffles. “Y-Yeah. Sure thing. I need to call my parents anyway.”

When he hangs up, Stephen finds himself walking toward the Eye of Agamotto’s resting place, but this time with less determination. He’s deep in thought. The tears still trail down, but he’s not as quick to put on the Eye this time.

Fate is toying with him. It’s taking you away from him, time and time again, to prove its authority over him and his ability to manipulate time. As if to say  _You can’t fight this. She was never meant to make it out of that hospital after that accident. You can rewind time but you can never change her destiny._  Stephen inhales deeply. Exhales slowly. It’s unsteady, but he takes it to prevent more tears from manifesting as he continues to consider the weight of his choices at this very moment. The words spoken to him by the Ancient One at a moment that feels to be centuries ago, that had until now been stored away at the back of his mind, come to the forefront in full force:

_“It’s not about you.”_

It never had been. All this time, Stephen had rewinded time claiming that it was to keep you alive, because you don’t deserve such an ending. But he realizes now that he’d been selfish to do it too. At the heart of it he knows that he’d also done it so he wouldn’t have to be without you. He cares for you deeply, but now as he stands before the Eye of Agamotto, he must decide  _just how much_  you matter to him.

You were always the higher priority. He put you above himself always. That hasn’t changed. It would never change. He loves you. He love you so much that…

He doesn’t finish the thought. It hurts too much to put it into words. It’s only a feeling. The overwhelming love he has for you and his desire to see you healthy and happy. He takes a deep breath, this time it’s one that’s resolute and determined. He takes the Eye, opens it, rewinds.

And rewinds.

And rewinds.

He rewinds farther than he ever had before, and his heart breaks more and more the farther back he goes. Familiar scenes flash before him. Each one he can remember vividly, can remember how he felt and how you sounded and looked at him so lovingly. These moments are gone just as fast as they’d appeared, existing now only in his mind.

Suddenly he stops. And there he is again—in the corner of the hole-in-the-wall coffee bar on Fifth and Main.

He tucks the Eye into his pocket and surveys the coffeeshop to see if he’d gone back to the proper moment. He sees you standing several feet away, one hand tucked into your pocket and the other holding your phone which you’re intently looking at. Seeing you standing there confirms that he’d stopped at the correct time.

The barista calls out his order—the one with a very particular amount of espresso shots. The exact same one you’d ordered and had gone to grab only for you to quickly retract your own hand and apologize.

But this time he remains unmoving. He watches you closely as you tuck your phone away and walk up to the counter, taking the drink and thanking the barista. You hold it close as you walk towards the doors that lead out into the snowy city. His eyes are glued to you all the while, and when you’ve left, Stephen feels… empty. Like something is missing. You walked out that door and took with you the love Stephen had had the privilege to be the recipient of for so long. All those possibilities—gone. They’d never existed at this point, never would exist, and they’re only like fleeting dreams. But to him they’d been very, very real.

The barista calls out the order again and this time he walks up to the counter to get his drink. He doesn’t conjure a gateway to return to the sanctum. He walks back in the cold, but the weather isn’t important to him.

He loves you. He always would. And even though his heart feels like nothing but a hollow shell without you in his life, he will always put you before himself. Because it’s not about him. And he really, truly wants you to live the long life you deserve.

———

It’s a couple of years down the road and Stephen is in the coffee bar this morning. The sun is out and shining and he’d had a particular craving for caffeine. He decides to come to this coffeeshop, even though it’s been a long while since the last time he’d been here. When he receives his drink, he sits down at a table to relax and continue reading his book.

He’s not sure how long he’s there, for the story is captivating and makes him lose track of time, but it’s long enough that someone comes and sits down at the table in front of him. He doesn’t look up right away, intent on finishing his current paragraph, but when he does, he has to do a double take.

There you are.

You’re opening your sketchbook to an empty page and beginning a new piece, sipping at your drink every now and again. Stephen had learned you were a regular of this place when he still knew you, and he’d stayed away from here for so long after rewinding so far back because he wasn’t quite able to deal with seeing you after all that had transpired. So perhaps it’s not too coincidental that you’re here when he is, since you’re here all the time. What  _is_ coincidental is that you’re sitting at the table in front of him, in the seat facing him, in a convenient spot for him to study you.

You look happy, healthy. Stephen is conscious of the date today—it’s one day after your flight would have taken place. Yet here you are. You’d made it past the day of the car accident, past the day of the crash in the cafe, past the day of the plane failure. You are alive and well and that relieves some of the tension in his chest as he gazes at you.

As if feeling him staring, you briefly look up. Stephen had never forgotten the look of your [eye color] eyes, their beauty and softness, but seeing them now is greater than any memory he could ever pull on. They’re bright and wide and innocent. You smile slightly, and Stephen smiles back, and then you’ve turned your attention back to your drawing, none the wiser as to who he meant to you, in another life.

Yes, there are other dimensions where he’s with you, but they’re dimensions where he has to deal with losing you too, where he’s forced to grieve and either rewind time to be with you until it happens again or to move on.

At least here, in this dimension, you’re alive. You’re living a life Stephen would never have the chance to take part in, but he knows it’ll be a good one based on the you he’d grown so close with. And knowing that is enough to make the heaviness in his heart bearable.  


End file.
